


where the love light gleams

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Great Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Steve Rogers is sick on Christmas, James Barnes visits him to share an orange, and Sarah Rogers is thankful for her son's friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from my favourite christmas song "I'll be home for christmas". Set in 1931.

It was Christmas Eve and Steve Rogers was sick.

Sarah Rogers knew it was bound to happen. It’s been that way more often than not. She supposes it’s a new Christmas tradition for the two of them. It wasn’t that bad, although it has been in the past, with Sarah fearing for her son’s life. Being ill on Christmas does certainly put a damper on the holiday cheer, though Steve always managed to be in high spirits in the face of his sickness.

She was glad though, that Steve was feeling well enough that evening to decorate their home. Christmas trees were, of course, cheapest on Christmas Eve, and she had gotten a tree for their small apartment. They had decorated it with strings of popcorn and modest ornaments. Steve hung a sock up near the fireplace; after Steve had fallen asleep she had put some walnuts, candy, and raisins in it. Under the tree, wrapped in newspaper, were two gifts for her son. One was a set of mittens and a wool cap, the other was a stack of worn comic books from the used book store.

In the morning, undoubtedly, Sarah had been woken up by a bout of coughing. She got up and proceeded to his room, knocking on the door before letting herself in. She sat down on the wooden chair that was next to the bed.

"Sorry for waking you up, ma." Steve said, his head drooping. Wordlessly, Sarah gestured for him to lift himself up so she could stuff an extra pillow under his back so he was sitting up.

"Oh, Steve, it's not your fault. You can't help getting sick." Sarah said, grabbing his cold hands, "let me fetch your presents, alright?" Steve's face lit up instantly. Sarah got up from her seat and grabbed the stocking and the two presents from under the tree. 

After sitting back now next to him, she gave him the stocking first. Steve grabbed the assorted treats from the toe of the stocking, smiling as he popped a piece of candy in his mouth, chewing it as he opened the next gift. The mitts and the hat elicited an eye roll from him at first, then a genuine thank you as he knew his old mittens had a hole in the thumbs. When he unwrapped the comic books, he was overjoyed, wrapping Sarah up in a hug.

Sarah held her son for a few minutes, before he ducked away to grab something from under the bed. Steve handed her a piece of paper, on which he had drawn her from the waist up. He had captured her face as if she was looking away from him, into the distance. She had a small smile, the sides of her mouth curving up, one side more pronounced than the other. It was most definitely the work of a thirteen year old, albeit a very talented one. Having seen the artwork of his classmates (from the countless times she had to visit him in school and talk to the principal when he got into a fight,) she was very impressed. 

“I did it in art class. I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you a real gift, ma.” Steve said dejectedly. He coughed.

“No, Steve,” Sarah said, smiling, “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She wrapped him up in yet another hug. “Tell me if you need anything, alright?” She left him smiling in the bedroom, opening up one of the comic books, extra pillows stacked against the flimsy headboard. She sat down on the couch, and clicked on the radio.

After a while, there was a knock on the door that caught Sarah's attention. She stood up and dusted her skirt off. Sarah wasn't sure who might be at the door — perhaps it could be some carollers, although Christmas carollers were not too common in Brooklyn. Her cheap red heels clicked on the scuffed hardwood floor as she walked toward the door.

Outside her door were not the jolly carollers she was hoping for, but Steve’s best friend James Barnes. He was wearing a knit cap that didn't quite cover his ears, and a faded muffler. James’ head came up to around her neck, showing he had evidently hit his growth spurt. His dark brown hair was ruffled, covered in flecks of snow.

“Hello, James,” she spoke, “I suppose you’re looking for Steve?”

“Hello, Mrs. Rogers,” James said, “and yes, is he here?” James was smiling with full teeth.

James and Steve had met after a school yard scuffle which both had been involved in, a little over a year ago. James had defended Steve in whatever the issue was — it was probably small and pointless. Steve was twelve years old at the time, and James was thirteen. At that time, Steve had only been slightly smaller than James and the rest of the boys. Steve had been sickly and small for his whole life, and now it was beginning to show. Other boys were growing upwards and outwards, while Steve remained skinny and small.

“He is, although he is feeling slightly ill. Nothing he hasn't dealt with before, though.” Sarah answered him with a slight smile, and gestured for the boy to come in. He rubbed his boots on the doormat. Sarah observed his boots were most definitely a size or two too large for him, although she was sure he would grow into them soon though, at his rate.

After discarding his muffler and hat on the small table beside the door, he stood awkwardly. Sarah realized that he was waiting for her to tell him he could go to Steve’s room.

“Oh, you can go ahead. He’s lying down in the bedroom.” Sarah said graciously. James nodded and made his way to the bedroom. In their small one-bedroom apartment, Steve slept in the bedroom, while Sarah mostly slept on the couch. Occasionally, Steve would sleep at James’ house, and she would allow herself to sleep on the bed. She lived for those nights, where she knew both of them were warm, comfortable, and safe.

When James opened the door to Steve’s bedroom, she heard Steve’s exclamation — “ _ Bucky!” _ — then James’ laugh. She heard the loud creak of the bed frame as James sat down on the bed beside Steve’s frail legs, then a cough.

Sarah returned to her spot on the couch, willing herself not to grab the catalogue from the side table and dream about the pricey dresses it advertised.

The walls in the apartment were paper thin, and the door was open, so Sarah could hear everything the two said.

“Bucky, shouldn't you be at home with your family? It’s Christmas Day, after all,” Steve said, a hint of sadness in his voice.

“Well, I had a feeling you were a little under the weather. I thought you might appreciate seeing me,” James said, “It’s Christmas Day, after all, like you said. And I saw enough of my family last night.”

Steve chuckled. “Well, given that I'm sick more often than not, it was a reasonable guess,” Steve said, “also, what makes you think I would want to see your ugly mug?” James and Steve laughed together for a minute, before James spoke up.

“I brought you something. I wasn’t sure if you would be getting one,” James said, and Sarah heard the crinkling of a brown paper bag, probably coming from under James’ shirt, “It’s an orange, fresh from Florida. All of my siblings get one, for Christmas. I wanted to share mine with you.”

“Really, Buck? You don’t have to. It’s yours.”

“Come on, Steve,” James insisted, “Besides, I prefer the apples we get to the oranges. And maybe it will help you feel a little better.”

Sarah was happy that Steve had someone to care about him. Before James, Steve was often pushed around at school, and spent all of his spare time at home. Now, when he was feeling good, he would often go out with James. Though of course, this would occasionally end with Steve coming home with a few bruises, and James with even more. James would claim that he tried to stop Steve. She was just glad that her son had someone to look after him.

The two boys emerged from the bedroom, James with the orange in hand. Sarah smiled at the two. She was amazed that when she saw them side by side, James had at least two inches on Steve. The two entered the small kitchen, James getting a knife from the drawer. Sarah held back a laugh at the fact that he knew their house so well. Steve grabbed a plate, and they cut up the orange. She watched from the corner of her vision as they ate the orange together, alternating taking slices from the plate.

“Ma, would you like a slice?” Steve called from the kitchen.

Sarah shook her head with a smile, and the two boys went back to smiling and eating the sweet fruit side by side.

\---

At the hospital next morning, there was chatter between the nurses in her ward. They were all exchanging stories of their Christmases. An unlucky few had to work on either the day or night.

“My son managed to save up enough money to buy his girlfriend a small gift. He went over there in the morning yesterday to give it to her. And no less with his Christmas orange, to share it with her!” One of the women said.

All of the women proceeded to comment on how lucky that girl is. How madly in love her son must be to share a portion of his orange with her.

Sarah doesn’t say a word. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in 1940, the first Christmas after Sarah Rogers died.

Steve sat alone on the couch in the empty apartment. It was the late afternoon on Christmas Eve. There was no tree, nor any decorations in the small apartment. Once populated by both Sarah and Steve Rogers, the apartment was only inhabited by Steve now, after the death of his mother. Golden light shone through the window and onto the dinged hardwood floor, and Steve observed the shadows going longer and longer as the sun began to set over Brooklyn. The winter solstice had been a few days earlier; the longest day of the year, with the sun dipping beneath the horizon unbearably early. It would only begin to get brighter from here.

A chill ran across Steve’s frail body, making him twitch from head to toe. He stood up quickly, the floor creaking under his weight. He impulsively made his way over to the desk which sat at the corner of the room, and opened one of the drawers. He needed to jostle it several times to help it along, as it had not been opened in several months. In it were some of his mother’s forgotten belongings. Mundane remnants of her everyday life, nothing particularly extraordinary. A notepad which was down to its last pages, still with a list of groceries on its first page, two pens, an empty tube of lipstick. Beneath all of it was a yellowed piece of thick paper, which Steve carefully pulled out of the drawer. He stared at it for several minutes.

On it was a drawing — his drawing, done at age thirteen. It was of his mother, as she looked years ago. How she looked when she was not in the hospital bed, and the lines around her eyes not nearly as defined as they were in the last months of her life. It was a cruddy drawing, by all standards. Though any time Steve imagined his mother now, all he could see was her lifeless eyes staring back at him emptily, her cold hand wrapped around his. He did, of course, have several pictures of her, though they were mostly from her later years. This was the only image he had of his mother, the colour of her hair and eyes intact, and she looked bright and lively. Steve wasn't sure how his thirteen year old self had the expertise to blend the colours perfectly so it mirrored the shine of the sun on her blond curls. 

Steve set the paper down on the side table, next to the framed black and white photograph of her. He grabbed his sketchbook from his room and his pencils, and sat back down on the couch. He studied the two pictures, striving to create the perfect image of her. He wanted it to be flawless, of her happy and alive and smiling.

He outlined her sharp jaw and her thin cheeks, with cheekbones visible. Her lips and thin, straight, nose next. As he was beginning to trace her eyes, a sharp knock on the door punctuated the silence of the empty apartment. Steve considered ignoring it, but realized if someone were knocking on his door on Christmas Eve, it was likely something important. He stood up and dusted himself off, and made his way to the door. 

Outside the door was, as he should have suspected, Bucky. 

“Bucky, go home.” Were Steve’s first words to him, looking up at his best friend. Bucky just chuckled, hands in his coat pockets. 

“Oh, c’mon, Steve, let me in. It’s Christmas Eve after all, and I’m very cold out here” He replied jokingly.

Steve grumbled and stepped aside, letting Bucky step into the apartment. He shut the door quickly, trying not to let the heat from the apartment leak out. Bucky kicked off his shoes, and hung up his coat on a hook. When he turned around, he faced a stern-looking Steve.

“Why are you here Bucky? It’s Christmas Eve. Shouldn't you be at home?” Steve asked, brow raised.

“Steve, you know that I can’t stand being with my family for too long. They won’t be missing me, believe me. You deserve to have someone with you too.” Bucky insisted, grabbing Steve’s shoulder. 

“I -- alright, fine. But you are going to go home later." 

The two made their way to the couch, it squeaking under their combined weight. Eventually Bucky caught sight of Steve’s drawing on the side table. He and Steve did not look at each other when Bucky eventually said, “Steve, I’m sorry.”

“I know, you’ve said it a billion times already. It was six months ago, anyways.” Steve said sullenly, looking down at his hands.

“I know that, Stevie, but it’s Christmas and all. You don’t deserve to spend your Christmas Eve all by yourself.” Bucky said, turning to Steve and looking at his hands, then his face.

“Thank you, Buck.” Steve said, looking at Bucky with a sad smile on his face. Bucky moved closer to Steve, placing their hands together. Steve’s hands were freezing, and he eventually leaned his body into Bucky’s. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, and Bucky could feel the occasionally uneven pounding of Steve’s heart against him, his shaky breaths. Bucky was most happy when he did this, holding Steve like this. He wished to no end that he could do this everyday.

After a while, Bucky nudged Steve, who grumbled in response.

“Hey, Stevie. Get off me. I forgot about something.” Bucky said quietly into Steve’s ear. Steve sat up and a light blush ran into his pale cheeks. Bucky got up and made his way to the door, where he retrieved from his jacket a small bag. As he sat down on the couch beside a tired-looking Steve and pulled out the contents of the bag. 

“An orange?” Steve asked. Bucky nodded, looking from the colourful fruit to Steve’s face, which now had a bright smile spread across it. Bucky got up, and Steve followed, making their way to the small kitchen, and flipping the lights on. Since they had sat down together, the sun had set completely and it was now fairly dark in the apartment.

Bucky grabbed a knife from the drawer, while Steve fetched a small cutting board. Steve cut up the orange, while Bucky just watched him, eyes moving from his slight hands to his face and back. Once Steve finished with the orange, he gestured for Bucky to take a piece.

“You first, Stevie.” Bucky offered, but Steve shook his head. Bucky grabbed a slice and popped it into his mouth, savouring the sweet taste of the fruit. Steve grabbed his slice and ate it, eyes closing at the delight. They went back and forth eating slices of the fruit, laughing together and smiling. On the last slice, Bucky offered it to Steve, which Steve reluctantly took. Bucky smiled as he watched Steve eat it, and was hit with a wave of happiness and love for Steve. Once Steve swallowed the last of it, he realized Bucky was staring at him.

“What is it, Buck?” Steve asked, with a worried look on his face. Bucky just let out a small chuckle.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Bucky assured, patting Steve on the shoulder, “Merry Christmas, Steve.”


End file.
